The Asylum
by vampire princess33
Summary: Alice while she was still human and her life in the asylum through some entries in her diary. Pre-Twilight.
1. Entry one

**A/N: I thought about writing some entries from Alice's diary while she was still human and at the asylum. I plan on adding some chapters ( I promise they will not be so crappy as the first one) **

**In 1900' there were the electroshocks and other tortures in order to help people 'get rid of their confusion' and mental institutions weren't the most pleasant places in the world as you can imagine. I enjoyed myself trying to capture this atmosphere in this fic.**

**Also feel free to leave reviews. They always make my day :)**

**Pre-Twilight**

**Disclaimer: I do not known Twilight or the character of Alice Cullen ( in this fic Mary Alice Brandon) . All rights go to Stephenie Mayer.**

**The Asylum**

**Entry one**

Dear Diary,

My parents have neglected me in this Asylum for mentally challenged people just because I am different.

Since I was little, I have been having these strange dreams. Sometimes they are about the future and I know exactly what they mean. Some other times, they are hazy and indefinable and I can't understand what they are trying to tell me.

I am not insane, I know it as clear as I can see those peculiar glimpses of the future, but my parents don't have the same opinion.

They say that the people in the asylum can cure me from my visions, and then I will be able to go back home, but they have never come to visit me all those endless months I am here.

My parents pretend I am dead, and maybe this is the best for everyone, because that way they will not have to explain to other people why I am here and if they can forget me they won't feel ashamed of me anymore.

I love them too much and I can hardly blame them for this.

Nevertheless, the treatment of the Asylum hasn't make my visions stop, neither have I lost this sense that sometimes tells me things. I don't know if I can bear another ''treatment'', not without breaking down and collapsing, but I try to be strong.

If _he_ didn't visit, I don't know what would happen of me; maybe my self and my will to move on would just vanish and the treatment would make me just another corpse whose life has been drained, a living zombie.

He is the groundkeeper of the asylum and the only person I see through my cell. He visits me and brings me a different thing everyday. They are always small and trivial objects, a flower from the garden, a comb, a small doll. He asks me to guess what it is and he is the only person that doesn't accuse me because of my abbilities.

There is something strange about him and I can't quite put a finger at it, but he is the only friend I have right now. He gave me this notebook I'm writting on and a small pencil.

In my cell it's always pitch black and I have no source of light, but I can write this entry using my other senses. Scribbling those words in this new diary feels familiar and it can almost ease the pain of my soul.

I'm not sure what date or even what month it is. In some ways it seems as if I have spent my whole life here in the dark. I will have to hide you somewhere, Dear Diary, beacuse I don't know what will happen if they find you.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that he will visit me soon.

I'm lying on the cold hard ground and I am waiting. It is slient and I can only hear the sound of my breath, but I'm still waiting.

I'm waiting for him because I love him and I'm sure he will eventually come as he always does.

I hope that I will manage to write again soon, but if I don't,

Goodnigt, Dear Diary.

Alice


	2. Entry two

**A/N: So, here is chapter 2 from Alice's diary in the Asylum and I hope it turned out to be good because I wrote it really really quickly and I didn't even edit it.**

**Also Alice is my favourite character from twilight.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Entry two**

Dear Diary,

I don't know how much time has passed. How long am I here? Months? _Years?_ And did I use to keep a diary before I came here? I don't know.

It seems like I have started to forget things, but do I really want to remember and cling onto my old life or the events that led me here? All I know is that those memories hurt even more than the tortures and the sad reality of the Asylum.

He says that it doesn't matter if I forget, that maybe if I do, one day I will manage to be happy again, but was I ever trully happy?

Here is this despicable Asylum with the people clad in those white medical robes that are doctors.

They might seem kind at first, but they are not; the grins on their faces and their lustful expressions remind me of voltures. They say I am confused. They say they will help me get rid of my confusion but all they do is load me with so many injections that I can't even lift my arms afterwards and always keep me in the dark.

The only time they drag me out of my pitiablel and dirty cell is when they subject me to electroshocks. They hurt and send white waves of pain to my tied, shaking as if I have spasms body, but when I scream and beg them to stop they just make them even more painful.

There are these sudden, blinding and searing flashes of light and then darkness again. Always impregnable and unblinking darkness.

I lay to my dirty, hard pallet and I clutch my precious diary close to my heart, but sleep won't come. Pain and dread seem to always seep through the walls of the other cells, especially at night.

It's strange, but sleep has always been kind to me; it shrouds me in a protective soft embrace and it is relieving to be able to escape, even if it is just for a few hours.

The nightmares never visit me. Nightmare is my life while I am awake.

It is cold tonight. I wrap my tattered thin blanket around my small and frozen body, but I can't keep myself from shivering. The screams start from the cells surrounding mine like they do every night.

It takes a great deal of effort to prevent myself from screaming along with them. If I give in to the fear and the depression then it is certain that I will lose my self and all the sanity I have left.

I can't see the people who make those sounds, but I can imagine with dreadful vividness how their faces may look, disformed in an agonised grimace, no humanity left within the hollow sockets of their eyes.

I may have forgotten a lot of things but I still remember what my father had once told me; that bad people go to Hell and then they suffer for the rest of eternity. I have started to wonder if this is actually Hell.

Dear Diary, I am afraid. I don't know if I will manage to sleep tonight. I try to think of pretty things and cast the dread away. Playing in thepond near my house; sitting at the terrace with my mother and drinking lemon-scented tea as we watch the twilight paint the world red and orange; the feeling of the sun on my skin...

No, there's no use. I can't even remember the sun anymore.


End file.
